Kissing Suzy Kolber » this week in f–k you

This Week In F—k You: SELF-DESIGNATED FRAT PARTY KEGTENDERS

Big Daddy Drew — Wed, 22 Jul 2009 16:00:11 +0000

We’re in the slowest stretch of the offseason now: the dreaded post-draft period. There’s no football on, and there won’t be football on for quite some time. You’re angry. You’re hateful. We understand. At KSK, we’re hateful too. Of all things, at all times. Hating is what we do best. So, in that spirit, we present you with the weekly off-topic/offseason feature…

THIS WEEK IN FUCK YOU.

Every week or so, we’ll be taking our lack-of-football-related depression out on any number of deserving targets: people, things, abstract ideas, group dinners, etc. It’s just the kind of cathartic invective we excel at. This week, self-designated frat party kegtenders.

Hey, you!

Yeah you, douchebag!

I’ve been standing here for five fucking minutes. Will you fill my fucking cup already? Why the fuck are you even holding the keg tap for any length of time beyond the filling of your own cup? You’re not a mixologist, shithead. It’s a keg tap. A four-year-old could operate it. Stop manning the tap like you’re Sam fucking Malone, and give me my goddamn beer.

I bet you’re one of those shitheads that insists on tapping the keg yourself. “Stand back, everyone! This is where I shine!” Listen, Taylor The Lacrosse Captain. No one cares that you can tap the keg with minimal spraying. No one is impressed that you know to angle the tap to the side of everyone’s Solo cup. Everyone does that. You’re not gonna get bonus pussy just by trying to turn the keg area into your own Central Command. This is not some special skill you have. When they tutor students at the Culinary Institute of America, “Pressing Down On A Beer Tap” is not a required course.

OY! I was here wayyy before that other guy! WHAT THE FUCK? Oh, I see. You’re brahs! DIDN’T WANT TO MAKE YOU WAIT FOR A BEER, BRAH! Yes, I’m well aware that this is YOUR frat and that you don’t know who I am. But you chose to open your doors to everyone tonight to come and drink, and so here I am, ready to drink. MAKE WITH THE BEVERAGE.

OY! What’s with serving every chick you see before me? That one girl wasn’t even good looking. This is fucked up. All I wanted was a beer. But nooooooo. You had to turn this into your own little power trip. BIG FUCKING MAN, HOLDING THE TAP! LOOK AT YOU! I BET MORGAN STANLEY COULD USE AN INSUFFERABLE PRICK LIKE YOU!

Fuck you, asshole. DIE. I shouldn’t be made to wait ages for half a cup of Schaefer, and I certainly shouldn’t be made to feel like I’M the asshole just because I’m not the one who decided to pick up the tap and cling to it like Peter King to a Starbucks marble cake. You know what? Fuck it. Your party is ass, and I don’t want your beer. I’m leaving. Fuck you. Watch. I’m leaving right now. One more minute, and I’m gone.

Okay, one more minute after this.

GIMME MY FUCKING BEER!

Hey, where are you taking me? Tell your “brothers” to get their hands off of me, god dammit. YOU PEOPLE ARE STALINISTS.

This Week In F—k You: JOE KLEIN

Big Daddy Drew — Thu, 16 Jul 2009 14:08:53 +0000

THIS WEEK IN FUCK YOU.

Political columnists. They are the single most annoying class of person on earth, ranking just below Christian motivational speakers and the homeless. They bitch about jeans. They make no fucking sense. They share a common goal of aggressively boring you into submission. This is not an ideological characteristic among them. Liberal or conservative, these people are all the absolute shit-sucking worst that humanity has to offer. But there is one that somehow manages to stand out even amongst the sewage. I speak, of course, of Time columnist and professional cocksmuggler, Joe Klein.

You might remember Joe from the time he anonymously wrote a book that you didn’t read, which was subsequently made into a John Travolta movie you didn’t watch. Those are both relatively harmless offenses. But I’d like to direct you to a column he wrote about a year ago with regards to air conditioning, an article so profoundly obnoxious, it ranks right up with Simmons’ “No one congratulated me for the Pats beating the Chargers” column and Wilbon’s “I hate the NFL Draft” column for rage-inducing annoyance. A year later, it still bothers the shit out of me, and it takes great doucheterity to be able to pull of such a feat.

I, of course, am on the record in my full support of air conditioning. Klein, however, feels differently. And not only is he against air conditioning, but he uses reams of column space to tell you just how great of a person that makes him. Let’s go to the offending item.

Kill Your Air Conditioner

On the weekend of the summer solstice, my wife and I went to a wedding in New England. The weather was perfect — mid-70s, sunny, with an exquisite whisper of breeze.

Well, that sounds downright lovely, Joe.

We stayed at a classic little inn… classic except for the air-conditioning blasting through the lobby.

ZOMG! This is terrible! A classic New England bed and breakfast desecrated with MODERN AMENITIES? This is not the true Colonial experience I paid for on my summer solstice! Look at this food! It’s clearly been refrigerated!

/spits out heirloom tomato

I asked the innkeeper why he felt the need to refrigerate when the weather outside was so amenable. “I wish we didn’t. It’s expensive. I’d love to keep the temperature about 75,” he told me, “but the guests demand it.”

And there you have it. EVIL human guests, who almost are certainly responsible for the murder of Bambi’s mom, are so airthirsty that they are suffocating the poor innkeeper with 69 degree temperatures and proper ventilation.

The unnecessary refrigeration of America has become a chronic disease.

It’s true! We’re airoholics!

It seems to have gotten worse over the past few years, with thermostats routinely set at 68deg.F, and sometimes even 65 deg., in the (far too many) hotel rooms I’ve suffered on the campaign trail.

Ah, poor baby. You had to suffer through sleeping in an account-expensed hotel room that’s a touch cool. I BET YOUR ROOM DIDN’T EVEN HAVE A BRAUN COFFEEMAKER IN IT.

“Americans seem to keep their houses cooler in summer than they do in the winter,” muses Edward Parson, an environmental expert at the University of Michigan Law School.

I have a law in my life, and that is that anyone who “muses” on anything is a douchebag. This also goes for anyone who is “bemused” at the sight of anything. “Let me muse on how these horrible people’s love of air conditioning bemuses me.” DIE.

But it’s hard to know for sure, since there are no comprehensive studies that measure air-conditioning trend lines.

That’s because NO ONE GIVES A SHIT EXCEPT YOU.

I will confess a bias here.

Oh, really? Bias? From a political reporter? I’m stunned.

I love warm weather, even when it slouches toward humidity. I detest the harsh, slightly metallic quality of the air forced through even the fanciest AC systems.

Here’s another law for you folks out there. If the only thing left to bitch about in your life is this “metallic” quality of your air conditioning, then life is pretty solid. If you suddenly decide to become an air critic, demanding higher quality oxygen around you, as if it is an entrée being presented to you at Per Se, then you may be out of touch with other people.

The only air conditioner I own sits, unused, in my car;

Oooh, look at how awesome I am! I don’t use things! I think of the innkeepers! That makes me better than you!

But you do DRIVE that car? BECAUSE PETER KING DOESN’T DRIVE HIS!

my home is happily unrefrigerated. But given the energy mess we’re in, I can now gild my personal preference with a patina of high-mindedness: air-conditioning is bad for the planet, and for national security, and for our balance-of-payments deficit.

You see what Klein does here? He goes so far as to ANNOUNCE to you that he’s being a complete douchebag about this. “I hate air conditioning. And now that the world is conveniently melting, I get to be a bossy dick about it. Yay, me!” This is a classic dick move, announcing your own dickishness. But it gets even worse.

Unfortunately, it is not as bad as I’d like it to be

Okay, so it’s bad for the planet, but it’s not THAT bad. And you wish it was WORSE for the planet so that you could REALLY give people shit about it.

— in part because not all of our electricity is provided by fossil fuels (although coal does predominate). And also because air-conditioning represents a relatively small slice of our energy use, an estimated 4%.

SO WHAT THE FUCK IS THE PROBLEM, YOU HAIRY SHIT? You don’t like aircon? Fine. Go sit in your stupid fucking car and sweat to your heart’s content. But leave me and my beloved Siemens out of this.

But that’s still pretty egregious.

But you just said it wasn’t!

We used an estimated 4 quadrillion British thermal units on air-conditioning in 2006, which is more than the total energy usage of all but 21 countries. And a fair amount of that is peak usage — the sort that sends the electric grid crackling toward brownouts and meltdowns and increases the demand for the construction of more electric power plants (and the pollution they spew — unless they use renewable sources like hydropower or, as John McCain correctly insists, nuclear power, which should be carefully reconsidered). “A lot of utilities supplement their main power sources with quick-acting oil- or gas-driven generators on the hottest days of the year,” says Lee Schipper of the University of California, Berkeley. Schipper estimates the cost of peak usage is 20 cents per kW-h, as opposed to an average of 13 cents for “baseload capacity” usage, and it is far more carbon-intense because it is generated by oil or gas.

Schipper also estimates a savings of 4% for every degree warmer you push your thermostat. If you’re set at 70deg.F now and move it to 75deg.—a comfortable, if slightly chilly number to my mind—you save 20% of the cost and energy of your air-conditioning bill.

Okay, so why not phrase the opening of your little article, “Hey, an easy way to maybe save some money and help our energy crisis may be to watch our thermostats.” Instead of, “You people are fucking AIR PIGS, and I am not. And your taste in oxygen is subpar at best. Let me show you all the ways YOU ARE BEING A COCK.” You see the difference in attitudes there? You see why I’m inclined to not listen to any of your research because you spent the first few paragraphs of your little diatribe being such an overwhelming cocksnot?

Let’s just skip to the end.

I’d like to see both candidates call for an immediate 5deg.F thermostat adjustment

And I assume you’d like to see them banned in all cozy seaside inns. What are you gonna do if I jack up the AC after coming back from an hour outside in DC’s 4,000 percent humidity, Joe? You gonna give me a demerit? What about the elderly? Should they be sweating out precious IV fluids just because you think it’ll teach us all a nice lesson?

…just to get the conservation ball rolling — and because it would be a “personal virtue” for each candidate to ask it of us. And I’d like to wish you all a nice, warmer summer.

GAHHHH! THE SMUG! CAN’T… TAKE… IT…

Hey look, I enjoy saving the planet and being a “virtuous” person or whatever the fuck that means. But you political columnists out there will never get me to do a fucking thing so long as every column your write drips with self-congratulatory bullshit. “Look at me! I have such great ideas!” FUCK YOU. Die in a restaurant walk-in freezer.

This Week In F—K YOU: Ellen DeGeneres And Her Retarded Dancing

Big Daddy Drew — Wed, 24 Jun 2009 15:22:05 +0000

THIS WEEK IN FUCK YOU.

There’s so much to hate about Ellen DeGeneres. Comedy Central once named her the 16th greatest stand up comic of all time. This would offend me if the list had been restricted simply to lesbian comics. But no, that’s ALL comics, and they ranked her ahead of people like Bill Hicks, Sam Kinison, Steven Wright, Dave Chappelle, Louis CK, Dave Attell, Robert Schimmel, and HOLY LIVING FUCK HAS THIS GODDAMN WOMAN EVER SAID A FUNNY FUCKING THING IN HER ENTIRE EXISTENCE? I’m offended even Sinbad ranks below her. I’m not joking. I’ve laughed at a Sinbad joke before.

I have no idea how this woman remains an enormous success as a comedian when she’s so painfully incompetent at the simple task of making other people laugh. “Oh, look at me! I’m stammering! I can barely get out my joke! I have no confidence!” But that’s not what truly angers me about Ellen DeGeneres. I can take that people in Hollywood bestow her with lousy show after lousy show as some kind of odd thank you for being gay on TV for a while. I can take that American Express pays her ungodly sums to be the face of her company because…? I can take that she gets to nail Portia DeRossi and I do not. Whatever. Shit happens.

No, I’ll tell you what really pisses me the fuck right off. It’s the fucking dancing.

Seriously, what the fuck is this shit? This is entertainment? They really let this woman have a show where she fucking dances her retarded dances for five-minute stretches and people find that enthralling? Really? I don’t watch the Ellen talk show, but it pains me to know that people are losing jobs all over the goddamn place, and yet somehow, some way, someone finds value in this woman dancing around like the whitest white that ever whited. Honestly, it’s fucking embarrassing.

And that’s not even enough for this woman. No, she has to get everyone else around her to jump up and start moving around with her, like an epileptic that’s been shot. And she has to get all her fucking guests to do it too. Bitch, YOU CAN’T FUCKING DANCE. STOP RUINING DANCING FOR THE THREE PEOPLE OUT THERE MAY OR MAY NOT ENJOY IT. What is the point of this? “I can’t dance, but I like having fun and you should too?” This is not a wedding, honey. No one around you is drunk. It’s not okay to be that white and that shitty at dancing and force it upon others. You are not spreading joy with your spastic tardrhythms. You are making people uncomfortable.

I swear to God, I see those American Express commercials and I want to shoot myself in the fucking face. Someone thought seeing this woman dance poorly was good enough to dedicate millions of dollars in both media and production money. WHAT IN THE LIVING FUCK? I don’t get it. Of all the people who are rich and famous out there despite being aggressively untalented, it’s Ellen DeGeneres that pisses me off the most. Because people like Kim Kardashian never intended to be talented to begin with. Yet this woman is regarded as some kind of fucking icon, despite being untalented in so many annoying different ways.

FUCK YOU ELLEN DEGENERES. AND SIT THE FUCK DOWN.

This Week in F–k You: Labradoodle Owners

Captain Caveman — Thu, 18 Jun 2009 16:30:16 +0000

THIS WEEK IN FUCK YOU.

I’m a dog lover. You know those people who will break their stride while walking through the city or suddenly disappear from a conversation to bend down and pet a dog? And immediately start a one-way conversation with the dog, even if they don’t know the owner? That’s me. “Hey pups! Hey buddy! What’s going on? What’s your name? Oh, you’re a sweetheart! YES YOU ARE. We’re best friends now! Yeah we are. Yeah, give me some kisses!” That shit makes my week. I have never in my life been as excited to meet another human being as I was with that hypothetical dog just now.

That’s one of the things I love about living in the Park Slope neighborhood of Brooklyn: there are dogs freakin’ everywhere. Hell, in the mornings you’re even allowed to let dogs run off-leash around Prospect Park. No fences or anything, just a whole bunch of dogs running free. It fuckin’ OWNS.

Alas, the first rule of city life is this: if there’s something cool or convenient about living in an urban neighborhood, yuppie cocknozzles will try to ruin it. Specifically, in this case, labradoodle owners. What’s a labradoodle, you ask? It’s the en vogue dog breed at the moment, much like puggles were two or three years ago. You get a labradoodle when you cross a Labrador retriever and poodle, then take the stupidest possible combination of those breeds’ names. Yuppies like them because they’re hypoallergenic, they don’t shed, and they cost a thousand dollars when you can easily rescue a dog for free at any shelter.

Now, labradoodles aren’t bad dogs; it’s the owners who are fuckfaces. There’s a car in my neighborhood with a bumper sticker that reads — I swear to Christ this is real — “My labradoodle is smarter than your honor student.” Contemplate for a moment the layers of fucktardery it takes for someone to be such a dipshit. They feel the need to make a point with a bumper sticker, check. They want to brag publicly about what kind of dog they own, check. They think a dog-related riff on the “My kid can beat up your honor student” bumper sticker is funny, check. They are unaware of how badly I want to crush their face with a crowbar, check.

There is no car wreck fiery enough for the person who drives that vehicle.

This gut full of hatred I have didn’t overflow, however, until I realized the extent of “doodle” owners’ highfalutin shitfuckery. For a couple weeks I’d noticed that all the labradoodles — about seven or eight of them — would play together while their owners hung out in a circle and talked about whatever labradoodle owners talk about. Molesting children and underpaying immigrant workers, I assume. They fostered an air of elitism — AT A FUCKING DOG PARK — that discouraged others from joining their precious hybrid dogs. But who cares, because fuck them, right? I was cool with them doing what they do, right up until the point where they got all the labradoodles together FOR A GROUP PICTURE.

I don’t know if you’ve ever owned a dog, but a typical thing that EVERYONE ON THE PLANET KNOWS is that dogs don’t understand the concept of standing still for photography. And they sure as shit don’t understand group photos. And so you’ve got the yuppie dipshit wives trying to line up their dogs, handing out treats to try to get the dogs to stay, but then they have to get in the picture to hand the dogs the treats, and the handing out of treats has led the racially inferior dogs like my own to come and sit near their precious fucking designer dogs and ruin their Aryan canine master race group picture. Some bitch pushes my dog (this sweet-natured rebel) out of the way. “Sorry, we’re trying to get a group picture.”

“Yeah, that seems like a terrific idea” is what I say, leashing my dog. But what I mean is FUCK YOU, YOU FUCKING DOG-RACIST CUNT.

You fucking labradoodle owners have ZERO idea of what matters in the world. They’re just DOGS. You take them outside, you play with them, and they give you unconditional love that makes your short time on this planet a little richer. Your dog is not a fucking status symbol, it’s not a ticket into some gay little club, and it sure as fuck doesn’t excuse a low-level brand of Jim Crow laws in a public park. GET FUCKED AND DIE FUCKED.

This Week In F—k You: Chris Berman

Big Daddy Drew — Tue, 09 Jun 2009 16:05:56 +0000

We’re in the slowest stretch of the offseason now: the dreaded post-draft period. There’s no football on, and there won’t be football on for quite some time. You’re angry. You’re hateful. We understand. At KSK, we’re hateful too. Of all things, at all times. Hating is what we do best. So, in that spirit, I’d like to present you with our new off-topic (or on-topic this week) offseason feature…

THIS WEEK IN FUCK YOU.

You know, we’ve made fun of pretty much everyone at this site: King, Simmons, Easterbrook, players, coaches etc. Barely anyone has escaped our scorn. But I’ve never devoted an entire post here to how much I fucking can’t stand Chris Berman. Oh sure, I’ve bitched about him in Gamebooks and what not. But the fact is that Berman, like John Madden, has been so mercilessly picked apart elsewhere (particularly, in Berman’s case, at Deadspin), that we never had a solid chance to give him a proper reaming here.

Well, that ends today.

Because when I heard about the absolutely fucking abominable news that Berman was going to give Ralph Wilson’s Hall of Fame induction speech, and that ESPN apparently has no problem with it, I just about lost my shit. Now, I have no beef with Wilson himself for picking Berman. He’s an old man who can’t fucking read. I wouldn’t be surprised if Berman had also managed to talk Wilson into putting him into his goddamn will. Old people are easy to manipulate like that. That’s why I always target them when I need to steal prescription drugs.

But I’d like to again take you to Peter King’s take on this piece of news:

In the days when the Bills were the lowest team in the league, Berman always boosted the team. You can judge whether a TV host should be rooting for a team, but regardless, Wilson, Marv Levy, Bill Polian and Jim Kelly loved him for it.

I will judge. IT’S A FUCKING ABORTION. Okay? Berman is host of a national program that is meant to cover every team in the league. That’s his job. It’s not his job to single out one goddamn team for special treatment. It’s not his job to be a frontrunner who decides to boost whatever team that has an ownership he happens to be close with. But that’s exactly what he fucking does. And now it’s come to this, where he’s so tight with one league owner that he is allowed to personally induct him into the Hall of Fame. Would ESPN stand for this shit if it were Dan Snyder he was inducting? Or Al Davis? Jerry Jones? Would it be appropriate for Berman to give Jerry Jones a public endorsement like this?

“What Mr. Jones has done for pro football and for the city of Dallas and the state of Texas, it’s hard to put into words.”

Because that’s EXACTLY what he fucking said about Wilson…

“What Mr. Wilson has done for pro football and for the city of Buffalo and Western New York, it’s hard to put into words.”

Really? Okay, well I’ll put it into words. Here’s what Wilson did for pro football. He owned the team for fifty years (good, I guess), he helped fold the AFL into the NFL (very good), and he presided over the Bills’ four straight AFC titles (very good). All arguably worthy of the Hall of Fame.

But don’t give me this bullshit that somehow Ralph Wilson helped make Buffalo some incredible utropolis. Unemployment in Buffalo is currently 9%. And the team may flee the city for Canada within the next few years because the economy in Western New York sucks and because Wilson doesn’t want to build a new stadium with his own money. Oh, and Wilson doesn’t even FUCKING LIVE IN BUFFALO. He lives in Grosse Pointe, Michigan.

But I wouldn’t expect Berman to note any of those things. And you know why? BECAUSE HE’S A FUCKING CLOWN. Like Peter King, he’ll happily use his media platform to boost the image of anyone smart enough to crony up with him. The worst example of this was when he was forced by ESPN to return a championship ring that 49ers’ owner Eddie DeBartolo gave him.

In 1991 Berman accepted a 49ers championship ring from DeBartolo, only to return it after taking some flak for it, within and outside ESPN. “I know one thing,” Berman says of DeBartolo. “The league misses him.”

Oh it does, Chris? It misses having one of its owners be a convicted felon who openly bribed a sitting governor? FUCKING BULLSHIT. The reason you think the league misses him IS BECAUSE HE’S YOUR FUCKING BUTTBUDDY AND HE LET YOU IN THE FUCKING CLUB.

Make no mistake: Berman isn’t doing this Wilson induction just out of charity. This is, without question, his first official campaign stop for his own Hall of Fame candidacy. If you don’t think this asshole is buttering up everyone in hopes of one day being officially immortalized as part of a game that he is only supposed to COVER, then you’re out of your fucking mind. Watch the speech. Berman will say, “No one circled the wagons like Ralph Wilson.” This isn’t a prediction. IT WILL OCCUR. And what purpose will that line serve, other to again make Berman more of the focus than whatever subject he’s talking about? He’s going to try and get into the Hall. And I bet you he succeeds, because no one is able to communicate the importance of Chris Berman quite like Chris Berman. “I built ESPN myself!”

I can’t stand it. Look at what this fuckface said on the occasion of his 30th year at ESPN:

“Just don’t call me a personality,” he said. “What is that? That’s a morning disc jockey. I entertain, but I take what I do, the journalism part, seriously. Sportscaster, that’s fine. That encompasses all of that.”

Oh, you take it seriously? FUCKING BULLSHIT. If you had taken it seriously, you never would have accepted that ring from DeBartolo, and you never would have accepted Wilson’s request to have you speak. THAT is what a journalist would do. I know this, because I make fun of journalists on a daily basis.

“You know,” Berman explains, “these [athletes and executives] aren’t enemies to us. We get into sports because we like the games and we like the people who play them.”

WRONG. You get into sports because you like the games. Nowhere is it in the sportscaster manual is it mandated that you LIKE everyone and anyone who plays them. That’s fucking shit.

”Maybe what we’re supposed to be, to quote Woody Allen from Broadway Danny Rose, is friendly but never familiar.”

Again, FUCK YOU. You ARE familiar. Enough so that one owner sees fit to have you induct him into the Hall of Fame. What fucking distance are you putting between yourself and your subject when you do that? The Bills weren’t even always your fucking favorite team. You were a season ticket holder for the goddamn JETS. So what genuine reason do you have to like the Bills, apart from the fact that they have an owner vulnerable enough to grant you access?

“It almost goes to, you know, ‘Are you a journalist?’ With the stuff [I] learn all the time, it isn’t like, ‘I have a scoop’ or anything like that. I may not have a scoop, but I [get it] right. I mean, ask the people I work with. Go ask Belichick or [ Philadelphia Eagles coach] Andy Reid. My job is different from the guys at the network who have to be pit bulls. I mean, I’ve got information that can sink countries. I just don’t need to bury banana republics every day. It’s not my M.O.”

“I’m a really important person who has really important information, but I’m too important to divulge it.” That’s the essence of how Berman operates.

And so, allow me to sum my feeling up to Berman thusly: FUCK YOU. YOU FUCKING SELF-AGGRANDIZING SACK OF SHIT. YOU COULD GIVE TWO SHITS ABOUT NFL FANS. THE ONLY THING YOU GIVE A SHIT ABOUT IS WHO AND WHAT HELPS ENHANCE YOUR GODDAMN PROFILE THE MOST. THAT’S IT.

I fucking hate this man. I hate all his fucking nicknames. I hated his “Nickname Show” where he explained the etymology of how he derived those stupid nickames. Curtis “My Favorite” Martin was inspired by a TV show? GTFO! I hated his old Roy Firestone interview where he lectured everyone that “postage stamps and newspapers are still the two greatest bargains in our world.” What the fuck is Roy Firestone doing interviewing you, anyway? I hate the “Fastest 3 Minutes in Sports,” a segment that tells me NOTHING, other that the ESPN production truck has a “star wipe” option.

I fucking hate him tipping draft picks every year. Right before the Vikings drafted Percy Harvin, Berman said, “Here comes the Vikes’ pick, and it might be someone unexpected.” Oh, aren’t you just so coy, you goddamn hot air balloon. “Let me ruin the suspense of the pick, but phrase it in a way where I sound both cute and prescient.” DIE.

I fucking hate The Schwam. That whole fucking segment. Who the fuck is rooting you to end the season over .500, YOU FUCKING CUNTSTAIN? No one, that’s who. No one wants to see your big fat head wearing a goddamn turban. No one wants to see that ass old footage of your at Bucs training camp, although it helps explain why the Bucs belong to that small suite of teams (Jets, Packers, Bucs, Pats, 49ers, Bills) that you give favorable coverage to. No one wants to see that footage of you singing on stage with Huey Lewis and The News. You’re a fucking embarrassment. I guarantee the biggest thrill you get is when you go to some retarded celebrity golf tourney and people clap for your drives.

Just don’t call you a personality? THAT’S EXACTLY WHAT YOU ARE, AND YOU’RE A LOUSY ONE AT THAT. You’re a morning disc jockey, asshole. You’re a goddamn mascot. Just know that, if you get into the Hall of Fame, the Hall of Fame will cease to be anything close to a credible enterprise. Just know that there are people out there who clearly recognize you for the enormous fucking fraud you are. You think you’re some kind of institution. You’re not. YOU’RE A FUCKING DOUCHELICK AND I HOPE THE NEXT LEATHER-CLAD WHORE YOU PICK UP WHIPS YOU UNTIL YOUR ASS BLEEDS, YOU COCKBIN.

I fucking hate Chris Berman.

This Week In F—k You: UMBRELLAS

Big Daddy Drew — Wed, 03 Jun 2009 15:11:25 +0000

We’re in the slowest stretch of the offseason now: the dreaded post-draft period. There’s no football on, and there won’t be football on for quite some time. You’re angry. You’re hateful. We understand. At KSK, we’re hateful too. Of all things, at all times. Hating is what we do best. So, in that spirit, I’d like to present you with our new off-topic offseason feature…

THIS WEEK IN FUCK YOU.

I FUCKING HATE UMBRELLAS.

It’s rained damn near every day this spring, but I would legitimately rather get soaking wet and catch pneumonia than carry around a fucking umbrella. The only time an umbrella ever works is if you happen to be in the middle of a rainstorm that has no wind activity of any kind. Otherwise, that fucking thing becomes a goddamn drag chute. Hey, let me hold on for dear life as I constantly try and recalibrate where to position the mini-tarp over my head! WHEE!

And God forbid you actually try and enter a fucking car with one of these things. Especially if you have something else in your hand. Here, let me put this bag in the car while the umbrella creates a makeshift waterfall over my goddamn head. How refreshing. Now, let me sit in the driver’s seat and lean out of the car so that I can fold the umbrella back up, so that it may then catch one of its tines on the fucking door and then give my legs a water bukkake. That’s pleasant.

I also enjoyed trying to walk on New York City sidewalks on rainy days, when very short, very old people with umbrellas happy tried to gouge my fucking eyes out as they walked in the middle of the fucking sidewalk. “Hey, it’s raining! Let’s abandon any sense of decorum when it comes to other people on the sidewalk! Let me bump into the first person I see, so that he gets absolutely fucking doused.” GOD FUCKING DAMMIT.

One time, I used one of those ten-dollar umbrellas to walk from the subway to my apartment in a sideways rainstorm. When I got into the lobby of my building, I proceeded to kick the ever-loving shit out of that umbrella. I bashed it against the wall seven times, stomped on it, and screamed obscenities at it.

“YOU STUPID FUCKING PIECE OF SHIT. FUCK YOU. DIE! FUCKING DIE! DIE DIE DIE DIE DIE!”

This was easily one of the ten most gratifying moments of my existence. I will do it again. Soon.

I hate umbrellas of all kinds. I hate golf umbrellas. Hey fuckwit, you’re trying to protect your clubs. You’re not holding a wedding under that fucking thing.

I hate parasols. Those are gay.

I hate Umbros. Wear real shorts, douche.

And I really fucking hate beach umbrellas. “Here Drew, let me load you up with ONE MORE GODDAMN THING TO CARRY. Just one more thing on the pile of coolers and chairs and paddle games and whatever else we can fucking stack on your head. Let’s go to a sunny beach, and then defeat the purpose of going to that beach by lying in the fucking shade. Ooh, ooh! And let’s make sure the wind catches our giant umbrella of death and sweeps it far away, where the spiked end might impale a young child. Aren’t you glad we brought this stupid fucking useless piece of shit? LET’S BRING TWO.”

I hate the song “Umbrella.” Ay. Ay. Ay. Ay. Ay. AY, GO FUCK YOURSELF, HONEY.

Umbrellas have been around since Egyptian times, and I find it incredible that no one since then has found a way to improve on their basic design. They fucking suck. The only cool thing about umbrellas are the cheap ones that extend when you push the button on the handle. I like to pretend I’m shooting a crossbow when I do that. But for the purpose of protecting you from the rain, THEY EAT HOG.

To the ancient Egyptian assface that designed the umbrella: FUCK YOU. I know you’re really dead now, but just know that I wish you were somehow EVEN MORE REALLY DEAD. You pyramid-building, beetle-worshipping dick. Your invention is one of those little tiny things that makes life worse for no good reason.

And to you old people wildly swinging your umbrellas to and fro on the sidewalk, and who bust out umbrellas even when there’s a light drizzle outside: DOUBLE FUCK YOU. You’re gonna die soon, and that’s good. Just because you’re too fucking lazy to wear a rain slicker doesn’t mean you get to casually deposit all the water collected on top of your umbrella onto my shirt. I WILL FUCKING CHOKE YOU WITH YOUR OWN CURVED HANDLE. The fuck are you so afraid of, anyway? OH NO, WATER DROPLETS! I’M MELTING! OH, WHAT A WORLD!!!

And fuck you too, Travelers Group. Your umbrella doesn’t protect me from SHIT.

DIE. DIE FOREVER AND TAKE YOUR FUCKING LONDON FOG UMBRELLA WITH YOU.

I hate umbrellas.

This Week In F—k You: Matt Millen

Big Daddy Drew — Thu, 28 May 2009 13:34:59 +0000

We’re in the slowest stretch of the offseason now: the dreaded post-draft period. There’s no football on, and there won’t be football on for quite some time. You’re angry. You’re hateful. We understand. At KSK, we’re hateful too. Of all things, at all times. Hating is what we do best. So, in that spirit, I’d like to present you with our new off-topic (or on-topic, in this week’s instance) offseason feature…

THIS WEEK IN FUCK YOU.

I’ve already ranted about the resurrection of Matt Millen’s broadcasting career, but I stumbled on something from Florio’s PFT earlier this week that rekindled my white hot fury. Two items. We start with this one:

In the wake of the surprising news that Tony Kornheiser is out and Jon Gruden is in as a member of the ESPN Monday night booth, we’ve picked up some more information regarding the manner in which this whole thing went down.

We’re told that, when former Lions CEO Matt Millen accepted a position with ESPN, he did so with the understanding that if/when a spot opens in the Monday night booth he would be given the assignment.

Per a source with knowledge of Millen’s broadcasting career, we’re told that Millen is not happy about the fact that he didn’t get Kornheiser’s chair.

Oh, you’re not happy, Millen? Oh, isn’t that a shame. Boy, we’d hate to see you feel a millisecond of distress there, kiddo. YOU FUCKING UNWORTHY SACK OF SHIT. Where in the fuck do you get off thinking you’re entitled to ANY FUCKING THING? You fucking failure of a human being. You fucking 0-16 sack of fuck. There’s only one person who could make me yearn for TK back in the booth, and that’s your retard Pennsylvania ass. “Duh, I’m Matt Millen and I like riding my lawnmower!”

FUCK YOU.

You really think you’re somehow more deserving of a chair in the MNF than Jon Gruden? Well, let me disclose a little statistic to you there, Matty. Know how many games Gruden won last year? Nine. Not a great number of wins. And they faded down the stretch to miss the playoffs. When you think about it, nine wins doesn’t seem all that great. Then again, THAT’S NINE MORE FUCKING WINS THAN YOUR FUCKING GODBORTION OF A FUCKING TEAM WON LAST YEAR. YOU FUCK.

Do you know how much it enrages people all across the world that you are gainfully employed? Do you know how much it makes less fortunate people want to fishhook you until your cheeks are behind your ears? There are people out there desperately looking for jobs. Good people. Smart people. People eminently qualified to do any number of things: nursing, contracting, consulting, selling life insurance, TALKING ABOUT FOOTBALL FOR THREE HOURS A WEEK. These people are busting their balls just to find a job so that they can pay rent, or buy food, or see the doctor, or pay for any number of life’s obligatory expenses. AND YOU HAVE THE BALLS TO COMPLAIN?

DIE. DIE FOREVER.

But wait. I’m not even finished. There’s more…

We reported last week that ESPN’s Matt Millen was miffed at the addition of Jon Gruden to the network’s Monday Night Football broadcast. As we’ve heard it, Millen believes he was promised dibs on the first open chair in the booth. (ESPN denied that any such promise was made to Millen, or that he was upset about anything.)…

We’d been told that, after Millen didn’t get the spot that went to Gruden, Millen tried to resurrect negotiations with NFLN. Initially, we heard that the league-owned network was not expected to be receptive, given that Millen previously had dissed NFLN.

We’re now hearing that Millen could end up getting the job.

Millen likely would take the position on a moonlighting basis…

Oh, so this asshole gets TWO jobs now? It’s not enough that he Hoovers up one goddamn job some other worthy person could have, now he’s gotta hog two? This fucking flaming pile of FAIL? This galactic fuckup? He gets to swim in job offers while we all fucking drown?

THIS WORLD IS FUCKED.

You listen to me, Millen. You shitstached douchejar. You are the goddamn luckiest asshole on the face of the Earth. BAR NONE. You have cronies seemingly at every level of football and broadcasting just aching to throw money at you to wildly underperform. And if that’s the way it goes, then that’s the way it goes. But I don’t EVER want to hear you fucking complaining about somehow getting dicked over in the process. YOU FUCKED A TOWN, MILLEN. A WHOLE TOWN. YOU BENT THAT TOWN OVER AND THEN RAPED IT WITH AN EGGBEATER. If there was a God (and there clearly isn’t), you would be living at the bottom of a Mumbai shitshanty.

Instead, you get to just merrily coast along, falling bass ackwards into a job millions of people would kill for. WELL FUCKING APPRECIATE YOUR GOOD FORTUNE, YOU FUCKING COCKROBBER. Fucking savor every minute that somehow, some way, there are people out there who think YOU, of all people, are qualified to talk about football on television. And know, deep in your heart, that you are, in reality, a fraud. You are the fucking Chauncey Gardiner of real life. So enjoy it, you shit. Savor it. AND DON’T EVER FUCKING BITCH ABOUT HOW YOU GOT SOME KIND OF RAW DEAL. Because the real raw deal is a world that allows for your charmed fucking existence.

COCK.

F–K YOU, PEOPLE WHO ASK FOR UNSOLICITED RECOMMENDATIONS IN ENTERTAINMENT

Christmas Ape — Wed, 20 May 2009 20:31:56 +0000

We’re in the slowest stretch of the offseason now: the dreaded post-draft period. There’s no football on, and there won’t be football on for quite some time. You’re angry. You’re hateful. We understand. At KSK, we’re hateful too. Of all things, at all times. Hating is what we do best. So, in that spirit, I’d like to present you with our new off-topic offseason feature…

With most TV shows wrapping up their seasons and trips to the beach not far in the offing, before long you’re going to be inundated with people asking for recommendations for their “next show to get into” or “what books I should take to the beach.” Tell these people to get fucked with a fire poker.

I hate recommending entertainment media. Any of it. Books, movies, TV shows, video games, porn, what have you. Not so much that I don’t like imposing my tastes on others, but I hate people who are standing aimless at entertainment crossroads, beseeching you to be to shepherd them to their next obsession. I don’t like having to answer for my tastes, because I’m usually passionate about whatever it is I’m into. Also because almost certainly the asshole who is too lazy to find things to pursue on their own is going to come back to you and tell you how lousy/overrated whatever it was you told them to check out was. And then ensues a vociferous argument about the merits of said work, which will strike you as them calling you dumb or obtuse or susceptible to hype for liking said work. And then you want to chop them with a a blood-encrusted halberd.

CONTEXT: At the end of high school I worked for the worst named video store in world.

Every day, inevitably, some fuckwit would come up and ask me “what’s good,” which I suppose on its face is not an unreasonable thing for a customer at a video store to do. HOWEVAH it’s such a deceptively complex question so as to be pointless. What’s good to me, the pretentious young video store clerk, almost certainly isn’t good to you, person dense enough to ask complete strangers for suggestions.

Now, I assume the worst of people. Always. But I betrayed this instinct at first, initially making plugs for things that I actually liked. And for this transgression, I was met with bitching. “A’yo, son, that LE SAMOURAI shit was WACK!” There were even those who went as far as to demand free rentals from the manager because they didn’t like what I had suggested they watch. And thus did I align my sympathies with the misanthropes of the world.

But then it felt even worse when I went the other way, and suggested shit that I loathed and they would return with kind words, which only validated deep-seated hatred for all creatures.

LISTEN: I don’t know what you like. I don’t know what you’re in the mood to see. I DON’T KNOW SHIT ABOUT YOU AND JUST WANT MY SHIFT TO GET OVER SO I CAN GO HOME GET HIGH AND FINISH PLAYING SHENMUE BECAUSE I’M ALMOST DONE WITH IT!

I venture to say that it’s just as bad with friends, because it opens fissures of disagreement, exposes fundamental weaknesses in the tenuous bond you share. “How could I associate with anyone who thought up in the Old Hotel was pedestrian? I can’t.”

These grounds are too precarious to tread. It’s better you send them to Uncrate and wish them luck. AND IF THEY TELL YOU THAT SITE IS OVERRATED SHOOT THEM WHERE THEY STAND.

This Week In F—k You: F—k You, Doctors

Big Daddy Drew — Wed, 13 May 2009 15:49:48 +0000

We’re in the slowest stretch of the offseason now: the dreaded post-draft period. There’s no football on, and there won’t be football on for quite some time. You’re angry. You’re hateful. We understand. At KSK, we’re hateful too. Of all things, at all times. Hating is what we do best. So, in that spirit, I’d like to present you with our new off-topic offseason feature…

THIS WEEK IN FUCK YOU.

I have a bad back. This requires me to sometimes visit an orthopedic surgeon. I see the same orthopedic surgeon every time. I make an appointment, show up at his office and, WITHOUT FAIL, wait for at least 45 minutes to see him. Minimum. Sometimes, the nurse will call me out of the waiting room, which makes me think I’m about to see the doctor. But I’m not. I’m simply led to some empty room, ordered to sit there with no fucking pants on, and forced to wait even longer, this time all alone. With no good magazines anywhere in sight. Just three four-year old copies of National Geographic. They usually slap a magnetic number on the door of my room, as if I’m some kind of deli order. Every time I hear footsteps outside the door, I think to myself, “This is it. The guy is finally here.” Only it’s not him, and I wait for even longer.

During that wait, my blood will begin to fucking boil. I will fume, imagining all the ways I’ll tell off that fucking piece of shit doctor when he walks in the door. But I never do. Because I’ve waited so fucking long, it’s too much of a pain in the ass to make an issue of it. Also, I’m usually in agony, and I need drugs straight away. So instead of punching that fuck in fucking face, I’ll accept the doctor’s half-assed apology, let him write me a prescription for muscle relaxants or some shit like that, and then leave.

This is exactly how doctors want it. They make you wait forever. That way, you’ll be so eager to get the fuck out of there that you won’t take up too much of their precious time talking about whatever the fuck is wrong with you. And you’ll be so grateful that they gave you drugs that you’ll forget about the whole waiting bullshit. And to that I say… FUCK YOU.

Fuck you, doctors. Fuck you fucking sideways. If I make a reservation at a fucking restaurant for a certain time, and they make me wait an extra 45 minutes, I have a right to be pissed. I don’t know when doctors collectively decided it was okay to be late TO EVERY GODDAMN APPOINTMENT THEY SCHEDULE. I made an appointment with a doctor for 9AM once. When I got to his office, he hadn’t even arrived yet. HEY FUCKHEADS, DO YOU REALLY THINK YOUR TIME IS SOMEHOW MORE VALUABLE THAN MINE? I make an appointment with you at a certain time because that is time I want to see you. This is not California, where plans mean NOTHING. This is not fucking Space Mountain. I have shit to do.

Oh, you have a backed up list of patients to get to? Well, here’s a little idea for you, fucknugget: BOOK LESS APPOINTMENTS. That way, the 75-year-old man sitting in the waiting room won’t void his bowels in front of everyone in the process of waiting for you. But oh no, we can’t book less appointments! That would mean less money for you! And your job is so hard! Lemme re-enact your job for you.

/walk in
/scribble shit on a pad
/leave
/tell nurse to draw blood and collect piss

Real fucking strenuous, you cockgoblins. I hope your fucking insurance premiums eat up 95% of your goddamn revenue. I hope you fall ill with some form of terminal cancer, and then have to spend your remaining days sitting in the office of your oncologist, forced to wait for hours on end like a goddamn piece of meat, treated as if your some kind of inconvenience as opposed to an actual human being. I hope you’re stuck in some lonely office with your ass hanging out, doubled over in agony while YOUR doctor sits five doors down playing Minesweeper. You FUCKS.

Just because you spent eight years doing your residency or whatever the fuck it was doesn’t mean you now occupy some kind of Presidential territory where it’s some kind of privilege on my part to get an audience with your sorry ass. You fucks charge hundreds of dollars per appointment. You should be on your hand and fucking knees that I choose you as a provider of care. And you can’t even show up on time? DIE. DIE OF SOMETHING YOU CAN’T DIAGNOSE.

If you were occasionally late to your appointments, I would understand. Happens to the best of us. But you aren’t. You are ALWAYS late, and you’ve structured it specifically so that I have no choice but to sit there and take it like an idiot. I swear to God, if I didn’t need the Percocets, I would stuff a McDonald’s straw in your goddamn dickhole.

I fucking hate doctors.